


every moment so precious

by scribbleddreaming



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Kinda Fluffy, M/M, a bit of pre!serum steve/bucky, just take it as it is, there are no explanations for anything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-27 01:36:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1710197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribbleddreaming/pseuds/scribbleddreaming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over 70 years have passed, but Brooklyn still feels like home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	every moment so precious

**Author's Note:**

> _"I'm still kicking it_   
>  _I'm daydreaming on a strawberry swing_   
>  _The entire earth is fighting_   
>  _All the world is at its end_   
>  _Just in case an atom bomb comes falling on my lawn_   
>  _I should say and you should hear_   
>  _I've loved, I've loved the good times here_   
>  _I've loved our good times here"_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _frank ocean - strawberry swing_

Over 70 years have passed but Brooklyn still feels like home.

Maybe the city will never truly change; maybe it just transforms and adapts to the new while keeping the spirit of the old alive.

There are more lights nowadays, more cars, more skyscrapers, but the air is still full and humid in the summer, the noise ever constant and the city always bustles with life, even in the dead of night.

Steve always loved sitting on roofs at night, even if the heat was killing him or the cold freezing him until his teeth clattered. Despite all the commotion, there was a certain kind of peace permeating the air in the dark, where his head could finally shut up for a bit and he could lose himself in the moment. Sitting on the roof of the decrepit apartment building, looking at the stars and just being silent are some of Steve’s favorite memories from back then.

The roof has changed, but the sky is the same, even if there are fewer stars to be seen. It is the same sky he looked up to over 70 years ago and it still feels like home. 

 

Moving back to Brooklyn was the right choice. There is no use in running from his past anymore, the pain is still there, no matter where he goes, but so is the comfort of the memories he had made so long ago, making him feel more human than he has felt since before steering a plane into the ice. 

He remembers the nights when Bucky would join him. They weren’t a lot, because Bucky was never one for sitting in silence, always running his mouth or pacing around the roof or throwing around some tattered ball he had found in an alley. But sometimes, just a few times, he would join Steve and sit next to him, sometimes with a large arm draped around Steve’s bony shoulders, and even sometimes with his warm hand entwined in Steve’s. Steve would lean his head on Bucky’s firm shoulder and the world felt so small because in those moments, he felt like a giant, invincible and immortal, as long as Bucky was by his side. They were fleeting moments in short nights, where Bucky would press soft lips to Steve’s temple, whisper words of strong devotion into his skin, grand words that he would never dare speak out loud in the bright of day. Steve never needed him to. He had those nights, under a Brooklyn sky.

'I never want this to end,' Bucky would whisper. 'You and me, till the end of the stinking world. I’ll never leave you.'

'I know,' Steve would mumble back. 'It will always be us, in the end.'

He’d feel Bucky smile against him. 'Yeah, Steve, no one could ever tear you from my side.'

Sometimes, Bucky would pull him in for a real kiss, fitting their mouths against each other, soft and languidly, as if time would halt and the world would stop spinning just for them. They were young and innocent and naive, and maybe they actually believed it.

 

Steve smiles fondly at the memory. It stings, thinking of how things might have been, without Hitler and the war and the serum and HYDRA. They might have led quiet, peaceful lives, together.

He lies down on the blanket he laid out on the cold concrete of the roof and closes his eyes. It’s almost September and the light breeze is foreboding of fall arriving soon. It brushes over him and he imagines waves crashing onto sand, like when they spent a day at Coney Island after they got paid, even though they couldn’t afford it. He remembers the sticky sweet taste of candy on Bucky’s lips when they stole rushed kisses under the pier, soft, hushed giggles in mingled breaths, warm hands on his small waist and wishing it would never end. 

 

Breathe in. Breathe out.

 

Steve falls away into his memories of times past, and it hurts, but he needs the memories to keep himself upright during the day, reminding him each day why he fights and fights and keeps fighting. There was a man who had believed in him even when he wasn't Captain America, when he was just that skinny little kid from Brooklyn with a big mouth and a big heart. A man who had loved him for never giving up. 

He misses the soft clicking of boots approaching, the shifting of clothes while someone’s bending down to lie next to him. He just notices fingers slipping into his left hand, warmth emanating from them and hears a quiet sigh. Steve’s eyes flutter open and he turns his head to look straight into dark eyes framed by dark hair. Steve would freak out if he was actually sure that this was really Bucky and not just a lingering ghost of his memory mixed with the most recent memories he has of the man before him. If he is honest with himself, it would be enough. 

Bucky looks almost uncertain of what he’s doing, like he’s asking Steve’s permission and the notion seems ridiculous to him, because Bucky could ask for the moon and the sun and every star and planet in the sky, Steve would not hesitate. Maybe Steve should say something, do something, take action; but maybe he should just lie here. 

He smiles at Bucky, a silent okay, and gently squeezes his hand, shifting closer to the other man. Bucky doesn’t flinch away, although he looks upon Steve in puzzlement, like he can’t fully comprehend Steve, like he's not predictable enough. He keeps staring into Bucky’s eyes, desperately hoping this is reality and not just some figment of his imagination, that this is some sign that things might get better.

 

They both stay silent, gazing at each other and the world comes to a halt, suspending them in time and they are all that’s left. Steve’s heart is thumping in his throat and yet, he feels oddly peaceful. He can feel the warm weight of Bucky’s hand in his and this must be what happiness feels like.

Bucky moves, unsure, not tearing his eyes from Steve as if he has to confirm for himself as well that Steve is real and here. Slowly, almost gently, he lays his head on Steve’s shoulder, as if he's made of glass or just an illusion. He can feel Bucky’s breath hot on his neck, steady and heavy. Steve disentangles his hand from Bucky’s and wraps his arm around the other’s shoulder. It feels right.

Funny how things change but stay the same. 

Bucky’s long hair tickles Steve’s skin and he can feel his friend tremble. 

'You and me, right?' was all Bucky rasped out before nuzzling into Steve. 

Steve smiles and looks up at the star-filled sky. 'Yeah, Buck, that will never change.'

 

Over 70 years have passed, and whether it’s Brooklyn or Italy or Germany, Bucky is his home.


End file.
